


Surround Me In Warmth

by zelda (skinandearth)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 13:08:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4878040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skinandearth/pseuds/zelda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>sick!Patrice is visited by Seids and Zee. Can be read as Patrice/Zdeno or platonic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surround Me In Warmth

 

Patrice is miserable when he’s sick. It happens around the same time every year, he comes down with the same stomach bug, wiping him out for a few days and making him hot and cold and tired all over. He lays on the couch for most of it, phone in hand and wrapped with a blanket. It’s not very comfortable.

 

During his rookie season, the year after the lockout, he was given strict instructions to call Zdeno or one of the trainers if he was sick or injured in any way. He tried to keep to his word. Zdeno was like a mother hen, always hovering around even when he didn’t _need_ to, a steadying force when he felt like he was going to die. Okay, maybe he was overreacting a little bit, but still.

 

He tried. He really did. But when he got sick, the first few days were always the worst. He’d not have the energy to crawl out of bed, just laying there in a pitiful heap of sadness and snot and balled up tissues, head pounding and eyes stinging. That’s when he knew it was bad, when he knew he had to call someone. Even if it was just to hear another human’s voice. It was times like that when he missed home the most, missed his mom’s homemade soup that seemed to make everything better, just like every homemade thing he’d ever had as a kid. He missed his dad calling him ‘sport’ and sitting with him on the couch, reading a book even though Patrice insisted that _dad I’m 14 now you don’t need to read to me anymore_ (he really liked it though. His father was an amazing storyteller, making every page come to life) or even just sitting there, providing warmth and comfort as they watched old videos of him in midgets.

 

He reaches for his phone.

 

“Hello?” The thick accent is a comfort, familiar and wrapping him in warmth.

 

“Zee?” He coughs.

 

“Patrice?” Zee’s voice takes on a note of concern, “Are you okay?”

 

Pat shakes his head before he realizes Zee can’t see him through the phone. “I’m sick.”

 

“Do you want me to stop over for a bit?”

 

“Yes please,” He’s sure he sounds pitiful at this point.

 

“Alright. Have you gotten out of bed yet?”

 

“No.”

 

“Pat, you need to get out of bed. Go take a warm shower, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. I’m gonna call Seids, see if he has any soup. Don’t strain yourself please.”

 

Pat nods again. “Okay.”

 

The line goes dead. So much for manners. He looks around, clicking the light by his bedside on and sitting up slowly. He stands, taking a shaky step forward, slowly piloting his lanky form to the bathroom. He’s about halfway there when he realizes he doesn’t have any clean clothes, turning back around and slowly making his way to his closet, grabbing a clean shirt and sweatpants. Another slow turn, another slow shuffle to the bathroom, the lights making him wince as he undresses. He looks like hell.

 

As soon as he steps into the shower, he starts to shiver again. Sinking low to the floor, he presses his back against the cold tile, letting the water cascade over his head as he tries to not fall asleep.  He stays like that until he hears the front door open, a low hum coming from downstairs, plastic rustling. Footsteps come up the stairs, pausing outside the door.

 

“It’s open,” He calls softly. The door creaks.

 

“Have you cleaned yet?” Zee asks.

 

“No. Don’t wanna stand up.”

 

“Patrice, at least wash your hair. I’m going to make your bed, and we’ll go downstairs when you’re done. Seids will be here in a little while.” Zee says softly, closing the door again with a soft click.

 

Pat sighs. He washes slowly, not feeling any better as he coughs and sneezes all over himself. He dries and dresses shakily, making his way downstairs with a blanket around his shoulders. Zee is in the living room, sitting on the couch, tv on low. He pats the spot next to him.

 

He sits gratefully, energy gone by even the simplest act. Zee looks at him worriedly, putting an arm on his shoulder and pulling him closer. Patrice goes gratefully, settling into the warm hollow of his captain’s side. Zdeno acts like a buffer, warming him but keeping the heat out at the same time. He’s grateful for the companionship.

 

Dennis comes in later on, when Patrice is drifting off to sleep once more. He feels Zdeno slide out from beside him, placing a pillow in the newly-vacated spot as he speaks softly to the defenceman. Patrice murmured softly, snuggling into the pillow, wishing it was as warm as the other man had been. He squirms slightly, startling awake when a warm, gentle hand is placed on his jaw, gently opening it to insert a thermometer. He mutters at this, opening his eyes to see Dennis kneeling above him, smiling slightly. The older man’s hand is pleasantly warm against his forehead.

 

“Heard you got some kind of stomach bug,” Dennis says softly. “You should’ve called us earlier.”

 

Patrice’s face goes red, “Didn’t want to bother you.”

 

Seids smiles bigger, “Damn canadian manners.”

 

He takes his hand away, the pleasant warmth replaced by the chill of the room. He shivers slightly, drawing the blanket closer to his face and groaning softly as his stomach cramps. It feels horrible, he feels horrible, and Seids picks up on it quickly. He leans over his teammate’s prone form. His hand hovered just over the other man’s shoulder.

 

“Pat? You gonna make it, buddy?” His accent was thick with worry.

 

Patrice groans and nods, “Mhm. Just… ah… just a cramp.”

 

Zdeno comes back in, steaming bowl in his hand, looking pleased with himself. His smile drops when he sees Dennis hovering over their teammate, whispering softly as the other man whimpers.

 

“Patrice?” Zee sets the bowl down and kneels down beside Patrice’s knees. “What happened?”

 

“Stomach cramps. He’s got it bad this year,” Seids explains.

 

Patrice sits up slowly, face pale and sweaty, “M’fine.”

 

“No you’re not. Seids, can you prop him up a bit more?”

 

The man nods, grabbing a few pillows from the chair in the corner of the room and tucking them behind Pat. Zdeno hands him the soup bowl. Shaky hands grasp it tightly, stealing what warmth he can from the food. Zee watches him as he picks up the spoon, hands shaking as he draws it to his lips.

 

“Do you need help?” The tall man asks quietly, trying not to embarrass his younger friend. Patrice shakes his head.

 

“No, I think I’ve got it. Thank you though,” He smiles.

 

The three men sit quietly, eating slowly as they watch the evening news. Patrice yawns as soon as he’s finished, laying back down as he puts his empty bowl on the coffee table. He drifts slowly, never fully awake but not quite asleep, listening to his friends talk quietly as they clean up. The front door opens and closes, only one set of footsteps being heard, a car starting and driving away. He opens his eyes again to see Zee sitting with a book, the TV on low in the background. The lights are dimmed, casting a soft glow around the room, dark enough to sleep but light enough to see. It soothes his head, knowing that he’s not alone, starting to drift off to sleep.

 

He hears Zee get up, the chair creaking. He’s hyperaware of the man standing over him, feeling the rough and calloused fingers dance over his forehead. Sudden warmth blankets him, before he’s being moved over gently and there’s a warm body sliding behind him. He feels his captain’s arms wrap around him, warm breath on his ear as the larger man settles beside him, warmth seeping into his bones. His shivers stop. Patrice smiles, cuddling into the man’s side as his breathing deepens, drifting to a full sleep. Zdeno smiles, eyes closing softly of their own accord. They settle together like that, a tangle of limbs on a too small sofa. It’s warm, cozy, _comfortable._

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
